


Down Time

by Veelez (Hyela)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Hospital, learning about werewolves and reacting fairly well to it, unlikely reaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyela/pseuds/Veelez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melissa/Sheriff<br/>Rated G for sweet fluffy stuff.<br/>Post-Canon, set somewhere in S3<br/>The sheriff gets hurt and hospitalized. Melissa decides that he would be better protected if she told him what he was destined to learn about one day or another. Romance sparks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homoeroticismforthewin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoeroticismforthewin/gifts).



_May you find solace in the gentle arms of sleep_  
 _Despite the wolves outside your door_  
 _In time you will see them all as harmless_  
 _And their idle threats easy to ignore_  
~Assemblage 23, Lullaby

  
Being a patient in your own workplace wasn’t pleasant nor did it feel appropriate. Usually, Melissa was the one who fussed around dozy people in bed, who comforted their tired loved ones with a smile, who could _do_ something, even if it wasn’t much. Sitting next to John Stilinski, anxiously waiting for him to wake up, having nothing to do but wringing her hands and looking at his bruised face.... All of it felt wrong to such an extend that she was starting to feel physically ill. She thought she might end up throwing up, and she was unable to slow down her freakishly fast heartbeat. The absolute helplessness was consuming her and, twice, she had to let the tears overflow and slid on her cheeks, barely holding back wretched sobs.

  
John didn’t deserve to be in the middle of this mess. He didn’t deserve to be beaten up by some creature he had no idea existed in order to protect his son. He didn’t deserve being pushed away by said son because teenagers think they know better and feel safer in a web of lies. He didn’t deserve having the people he cared about threatened and hurt, especially after having lost so much before.

  
Melissa had tried to talk to Scott and Stiles, but her own son was being evasive in that upsetting manner of his, and Stiles had simply shut down. He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t look people in the eye. As the group had to leave to straighten some things out, and to put space between the sheriff and them thinking it was the best solution, Stiles followed, this heavy aura of gut-twisting guilt around him. He had looked at her uneasily and mumbled off something about taking care of herself and his dad. As if Melissa and John were the kids in the situation. As if Stiles was responsible for any of what happened, and that he might as well had beaten his father himself.

  
It was hard enough to support Scott knowing what he was up to, what he thought he had to do; she couldn’t imagine being in John’s shoes. Having her life ruled by ignorance, uncertainty, fear and the clear feeling of not doing enough, of not _being_ enough.

A few weeks before the incident, John Stilinski had called her in the night. He was obviously drunk. It had scared her. Her ex-husband and alcohol, although he wasn’t dependent on it, didn’t mix well. John, though, was more of an emotional drunk. She had then remembered the times after his wife’s funeral. She went to pay her respect, since their kids were friends, and he had been a mess, balancing between loud proclamations, fit of tears and long silences.  
It was the same that night on the phone.

He had started by exchanging some platitudes with her, then she heard him cried, and finally he begged her to tell him if Stiles was in trouble, because he had barely been home in three days and wouldn’t talk. She hadn’t known what to say. She wanted to tell him the truth, but she got scared and feared that the kids would resent her for it.

Melissa let out a humourless laugh. The kids... They were really becoming the parents, taking decisions, keeping things in the dark and being upset when adults tried to help them. It was ridiculous. They wouldn’t last that way. None of them would, not even that young man, Derek Hale. Sure, he had his uncle (Melissa shuddered, thinking about Peter and how he had manipulated her. Maybe she was an adolescent if her need for male attention ended up blinding her), but he was slowly crumbling under the weight of everything he put on his shoulders. As for the other kids, they were doing even worse. Melissa wondered, although the thought disturbed her, who would crack first. Who’s mental breakdown would happen first. Scott’s? Allison’s? Hers? Had one already happened without anyone noticing? God, that would be horrible. Everyone was soaking in despair and loneliness.

Still, at least they knew what was going on, what was the goal of each party (except maybe Peter’s... she shuddered again, unable to think about him without getting tense). Knowing was reassuring, despite all the stress and the fear. They could prepare, or fool themselves thinking that they were prepared. If something happened, it would be less of a punch in the stomach; reactions would be faster. Some of the parents did not know, though, John among them. She couldn’t do much for the other adults, but John? John would know.

Tonight. That much Melissa had promised herself when she went into the white little room and sat herself down next to the man, trembling but determined. She had waited long after visiting-hours, throwing cold stares at any of her colleagues who tried to persuade her to go get some sleep. Ha. As if sleep would come anyway if she was alone at home, dwelling on everything that had happened, without any blanket of safety.

Somehow, the stress didn’t diminish for all the time she was there. Looking at John — the blue and purple spots on his face, his black eyes, his split lip, his broken arm— made her emotive no matter how many times she laid her eyes on him, no matter how much rationalization she tried to do (that his wounds were not that severe, that he was going to be alright, that it wasn’t fatal or too late to talk...). However, in-between the anxiety, the remaining adrenaline from the previous night dropping and then climbing again, and the guilt, silly thoughts came to her.

She thought that John Stilinski was still handsome under all his damage. She thought that he was a brave man, but that it was strangely funny (she deserved to be hit for that one) how quickly he went down against the... that beast. Like a cartoon character. In a cartoon, he’d be the hero, though, not the comic-relief. She thought that John’s expression when she would tell him would be picturesque and priceless, because unlike her who flew and hid, John would just be comically confused before accepting it all. He was like that. An uncomplicated man who took what was coming and tried to do his best with it.

As she smiled derisively at herself for these off-topic thoughts, John began to stir in the bed. She jumped and her blood ran cold as she was torn between two sentiments: ‘it was too soon’, and ‘at last’. It’d be the morning soon. A brand new day. She took his hand and waited for him to assimilate his situation.  
John took a few minutes waking up, looking around him, staring sleepily at her. He offered a smile that didn’t waver even when he hissed at the rising pain. His gaze fell on his plastered arm and his sole reaction to it was to sigh. He freed his hand from her grasp, brought it to his face to feel it. Winced. Looked at her and smiled again, embarrassed.

“I think I hit my head,” he said hoarsely, trying to be deadpan. He coughed. “Oh, and something died in my mouth... I taste blood. Not fresh. Ugh.”

Melissa let out a little laugh. It was messed up, but he was adorable, even broken. Somehow, she knew that John would be able to handle the truth.

“You were indeed hit,” she answered softly, taking back his hand between hers. “Repeatedly. Then, he threw you on the ground and you broke your arm. Derek said it was a chance that you didn’t suffer more serious damages. I agree.”

“Alright. Just... Let me process that.” He took a minute, a cloud passing in his eyes. He was trying to remember, she could tell. She was proved right when he looked up at her, disconcerted and demanding. “What happened?”

Such a simple question. But where to begin? How to formulate it? How to prepare for the predictably bad reaction that was to come, regardless of John’s mental strength?

“Um... you tried to defend Stiles against—”

“Stiles!” bursted out John. He tried to sit too fast, let out a cry, and then surveyed the room frantically, searching his son. She did not let go of his hand and his eyes fell on it. He took one good look at her tear-stained face and his own closed in a second. His whole body stilled and tensed while his face became frightening pale. His brow furrowed and his lips wobbled. “Where is my son?” he managed to ask, not quite coldly, but close.

“Oh! No, no, he’s fine!” Melissa exclaimed hurriedly. “Stiles got out far better than you did. He is not hurt, only shaken. He just couldn’t stay there for the night.”

John swallowed painfully and let himself fall back on his pillow. The relief seemed overwhelming for him. He was now red in the face, breathing unevenly. “You told him to go?” he asked piteously.

“No, he had to go. The... gang. Needed him. He’s apparently indispensable. And he felt guilty, that’s for sure.”

“Nonsense... it is my duty to protect him, not the other way around.”

“I know, but... if someone you love told you that, wouldn’t you feel a bit insulted? He’s the same. He’s...”

“I know...” dragged the sheriff, “No, I know, but I’m the adult _and_ the dad and... but I’m not going to patronize you. You know all that, because my son is with Scott, isn’t he? How is Scott? Is he alright? Are you alright?”

Melissa opened her mouth to answer, but her mind was racing and she didn’t know how to bring up the matter of lycanthropy anymore. John was looking so worried, so kind that he hissed the pain away to ask about everybody, not caring enough about his own condition. What would happen when he’ll know? Would he try to throw himself into danger even more out of grief and worry?

“Hey, hey!” started John, a slight panic creeping up in his voice, “It’s okay! I didn’t mean to make you cry... if something happened, feel free to talk about it or to ignore me. I mean, I’d rather know soon enough, but not if it pains you that much, then someone else can tell me.”

Melissa realized that cold tears were rolling down her cheeks incessantly. She made a choked, laughing noise and wiped them away. She felt dysfunctional, unable to keep anything in like that.

“No, Scott is... mostly fine. Listen, I have something to... there’s something you should know. Something that’s been going on for a while. I think it’s time for me to tell you.”

John frowned and scratched his nose, obviously confused, but he was also alert and ready to take in whatever Melissa had to tell him. He was the sheriff after all, and was used to receiving, or having to give all kinds of ugly truths.

“What is it, Melissa?” he encouraged her, “If it has to do with Stiles and the others, you should certainly tell me.”

“It’s... it’s...”

Damn. How do you go about telling someone that werewolves exist? There really didn’t seem to be any good way to tell it. Meanwhile, John was still frowning, but he tried to smile at her once or twice, ineffectively, not only patient but empathetic as well. She had no choice. It was now or never, and she couldn’t back down now.

“Stiles is hanging out with... no, let me reformulate that. Stiles, your son, is involved with a group of... of...”

“Delinquents? A Gang? Sorry. You make me a little nervous. Take your time...” John was getting agitated and upset. Melissa knew he was making up scenarios in his head, trying to fill her silence with something, anything, but like any parent, coming up with the very worst he could imagine.

“My son is a werewolf!” she blurted out. She immediately covered her mouth and started to giggle, or maybe sob, hysterically. She looked through her fingers to look at John’s reaction. He wasn’t looking at her like she was crazy, but he was obviously very perplex by her and his eyes had widened. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t believe her either, but she had anticipated that.

“No, it’s true, John. I know how it sounds, how it makes me appear, but I swear to God that it is true. Scott is a werewolf. A bit like in the movies. He... changed. With the moon. He’s faster, stronger. He’s—”

“Is Stiles a werewolf?!” exclaimed John. He looked even more upset. He was shaking and clinching his blanket with his free hand. She couldn’t believe it. He was actually believing her. Just like that. She barely had to insist, and now he was blanching and staring at her with these frightened-angry eyes.

“...no. No he isn’t. He’s only—”

“But he hangs out with them!” yelled John, “Endangering himself all the time, turning into a liar and hiding things from me! He spends time with that Hale kid, and with the Lahey kid! He loses sleep, he doesn’t eat well, he looks absent half of the time, he’s... he’s...”

“He is Scott’s best friend,” she said meekly. John instantly shut up and rubbed his eyes. His breath was short and uneven.

Melissa didn’t say anything for a little while, as she predicted the arrival of a very alert nurse, ready to calm down a patient going through a mental breakdown. She would have brought a sedative, Melissa knew, if only it was the protocol and if she wasn’t in a hurry to arrive first in the yeller’s room. New girls were often eager, and they liked to brag about successful interventions with the patients. Unfortunately for her, John had ceased his crying. Melissa smiled at her.

“Everything is fine here,” she said softly, “Mr Stilinski just had to get some frustrations out of his system. We are sorry for the noise.”

The nurse pursed her lips and stiffened a little, recognizing Melissa. She smiled and nodded, but she couldn’t help but add “Well, I would appreciate if you two didn’t wake up all of the other patients. Some people need a good night sleep in this hospital.”

“It’s my fault, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” pipped in John, having caught his breath. The nurse smiled sourly at him and left, looking for another emergency and another way to prove herself. It probably wouldn’t be long before she became one of these blasé people.

“I’m really sorry about that,” continued John to her, his tone slightly subdued, “One the other hand, I can’t imagine how you reacted when you learned about this.”

“Badly,” said Melissa, finding it unnecessary to mention that it was that night in the jail cell, “And although I saw it with my own eyes, it took me days before I came to accept it. It took you less than one minute. What’s with that?”

“Oh, just...” John looked half-sheepish, half-unhappy. He sighed. “I guess I was looking for that explanation and you gave it to me on a silverplate. What I mean is, I went through everything else and... it didn’t fit. In fact, nothing of what is happening in this town seems to make sense anymore. Especially everything concerning that Hale kid. So... werewolves. Yeah. That would explain people being able to lose police cars on foot. Witnesses talking about wild beasts. Stiles reading about voodoo or wiccan stuff... Things like that, that don’t stop coming my way. Werewolves. Seems hard to swallow, but at this point it’s not. Even though it’s not the kind of teenage problems I would have prefer for Stiles to have.”

“I hear you. I thought that Scott was having _girls_ issues. Then, I thought it was all about his father. I think that I would have preferred it this way.”

“You think?” John snorted. He gave her that funny look and smirked at her. She laughed.

“You know, I wouldn’t even be surprised if Scott’s father was some kind of beast. Like that lizard thing.”

“That _what_?”

“Oh that’s... It’s taken care of. I’ll tell you some other time, if you don’t mind. I don’t really want to remember that right now.”

“No... problem. I think the werewolf confession is already a lot to process. I better prepare myself to have that conversation with my son. I don’t know what else to say, frankly, except maybe thanks. Thank you for telling me. I needed it.”

“You needed it so badly that you are already making peace with it. That is kind of incredible.”

“I needed someone to trust me with a valuable information.” replied John solemnly. Melissa nodded and took his hand, trying to show her support.

“That’s not even questionable: you should have known. From the beginning. The kids shouldn’t try to protect us like that. Especially since it is counter productive.”

Melissa put her other hand on John’s cast to illustrate what she was saying. John shrugged and looked at her. Then he just nodded. His eyes were a little wet and shiny. He still looked determined, but he was a bit slumped too. He needed to rest, to sleep more.

“That would have been good. But I guess that teenagers are both melodramatic creatures and secretive beings. And as much as they whine about their parents not understanding them, they don’t like to make the effort to cross that bridge themselves either.”

“Don’t be too harsh. It’s a tough situation,” reproached Melissa, noticing the slight spite echoing in John’s tone. He ducked his head and sighed.

“I know. I suppose that if the situation were reversed, perhaps we wouldn’t have the guts to tell our own kids the kind of things in which we were involved. It’s just that I feel...” he made a frustrated movement.

“Left apart,” she finished for him. “I know the feeling, John, believe me. I think that Stiles knows it too. He tries very hard to help everyone, to be that indispensable piece of puzzle. But he tires faster and... Well, I shouldn’t tell you this, but he is more fragile. Like I am. He’s only human. But somehow, I feel like there isn’t enough humans in this... team.”

“That’s not why you told me, right? To even the numbers?”

“Of course not! I told you to be fair. I told you because—”

“Because I got attacked? Was that pity? You would be right, if that’s the case. I’m a detective and I couldn’t figure out anything. Some creature made meat out of my face. I guess that me knowing isn’t really useful to you guys. At least you are a nurse, and Stiles is smart, but I... Will I be able to contribute? To protect any of you?”

“John!” she took his face between her hands carefully, forcing him to look at her in the eyes. “Now listen to me. I forbid you to calculate your worth in terms of physical strength, or even in terms of intelligence. What matters is, you are a kind, brave, loyal, enduring kind of man. Now that you know everything, you will be able to support Stiles to your fullest. Or... or to move out, go away from Beacon Hills forever. I don’t know. All I know is, you are not useless John. The first thing you did when you saw the man giving trouble to the kids was to go head first and intervene. Then, when you saw there was something wrong with him, you still put yourself between him and the kids. You tried to talk, then you shot him when he tried to attack you. You got him. Then... then he...”

“He beat me in a fury. I can barely remember all of that.”

“That gave us time to go get what we needed to push him away.”

What they needed was actually Chris Argent. Turns out the guy was an ex-hunter. This almost didn’t surprise her.

“John, you fulfilled your role _as a father_ that night. Don’t you see it? The only thing you should ask of yourself is to be there for Stiles when it matters the most. You won’t always be able to protect him, that one is a given, just like I won’t always be able to help Scott as much as I’d like, but at least we’ll be there. At least they’ll know that they are not alone to confront all of the horrors that the world is throwing at them. I think that it is very important. I think that, you and I, we are important. To them. Even if you are no Superman and I’m no Wonder Woman.”

John grinned at her. “Well, Melissa, _I_ think that you are pretty wonderful.”

“Oh,” she almost giggled, “Well, John, _I_ think that you are pretty super yourself.”

He kissed her. It was short, a brief sucking of her lower lip, but it was also electric. It surprised her, even though afterwards it felt like something inevitable. Melissa stared at John, wide-eyed, his face still held between her hands. He was smiling at her tenderly, no trace of remorse in his eyes. He had premeditated that, and thus did not see it as a mistake. Perhaps he had even think about it for a little while.

“I would say sorry for that, but the truth is I am not. Are you?”

“I am rather sorry about how long it took for someone to kiss me like that again,” admitted Melissa coyly. John barked a small, rough laugh.

“That’s kind of hard to believe. It’s been... it’s been long for me too. In fact, I haven’t kissed any woman like that since... since...”

“It’s okay, John. You’re stuck in a bed with your arm in a plaster, and your son hangs out with werewolves, one of them being mine. There’s no reason to be awkward about a kiss, is it?”

“Haha, you got me there.”

Silence.

“I—I thought that something was going on between Stiles and the Hale kid.” John blurted out, out of nowhere. Melissa frowned and shook her head, perplexed. “It was either that or that he was getting blackmailed into working for a gang, so I was actually hoping that he was in love with a crazy person.”

“Oh, Derek is not crazy.”

“No, he just looked like a creepy _man_ emitting bad vibes turning around my kid.”

“Well, I’m sure that being mean and vindictive feels very good right now, John—”

“Do you want us to face this together?” John cut her hurriedly, “As in hand in hand? As in together?

“Wait, if I understand correctly, exposing your previous speculations and worries about your son’s activities is your way of asking me out on a date?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know what I’m saying. The moment is obviously not the best—”

“Yes. I would go out with you John. I would face the beasts, all of the nightmarish facts of reality with you.” said Melissa, trying to sound solemn and serious, even though a big smile was illuminating her face. She thought that tears might start flooding again if she didn’t control herself. Too much excitation in a same night.  
John leaned up, his calloused fingers finding her cheek and softly tracing a weird pattern there. He smiled back to her, a bit shyly, before kissing her again. This time, it lasted longer. They took the time to savour it, bathing in a kind of unsure happiness that is tainted by the fear of immediately losing what you just got. In fact, they were terrified, but they still smiled into each other’s mouth. They still laughed uncontrollably after John uttered the word ‘Werewolves’ in a disbelieving manner, and then with a sarcastic tone, prompting the nurse from earlier to come back with a glare and a warning. They were terrified, but they were also relieved, one from a painful ignorance, the other from a heavy secret. In that moment of sharing, they felt united enough to hope and push back against the parental despair constantly threatening to invade their mind.

Melissa took back John’s hand between hers. He let her, and then slowly let himself drift back to sleep, his gaze not leaving her for as long as he was still awake. He was tracing patterns on her palm with his thumb. She kissed him on the forehead right before he fell asleep.

The day was dawning.


End file.
